14. Ozzy #2
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, voice guttural and wrecked. I can hear him stroking himself now, fast and ruthless. “You should hear yourself, baby. You sound like heaven being ruined.”
My skin is slick with sweat, and my legs are shaking, but I don’t hang up.
I can’t.
“Are you…?” I ask, my voice barely a breath.
“Oh yeah,” he pants. “I’m so fucking hard it hurts, Ozzy.
” It’s a near-whimper that escapes him. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me.
” His voice turns ragged, unhinged. “I’m not just jerking off, I’m imagining you pinning me down, that wild fucking look in your eye, choking me while you ride me like you own me. ”
“Jackson,” I moan, the heat building all over again.
“You’d ruin me,” he growls, deeper now. “And I’d fucking thank you for it.”
I hear his breath hitch. Hear the sharp thud of his fist hitting the wall, like he’s trying to hold himself together. Like the sound of my voice alone is undoing him.
“You still touching yourself, baby?”
“N-no,” I admit, breathless. “I—Jackson, I can’t move.”
He chuckles, hoarse and reverent. “Good. That’s how I want you. Fucked-out and shaking, thinking of nothing but my name.”
The silence after is thick with heat, both of us trying to breathe through the high. Then he says, softer this time:
“I want you, Ozzy. Not just like this. All of you. Every version. The angry one, the terrified one, the one moaning my name like she needs me to breathe.”
I close my eyes, heart pounding. “You already have me, Jackson. That’s the problem.” The reality of what I did, what we did, comes into view. Oh my god, how am I supposed to ever look at him again?
I’m about to tell him I quit and then run away when I hear squealing tires outside and…
A cry.
“What the fuck—is that a kid?” Jackson snaps, sharp and alert.
The moment splinters. I throw off the covers and bolt for the door, phone forgotten.
And there, standing in the porch light, is a boy.
Barefoot, crying and shaking.
Jackson’s voice crackles through my earbud, still clutched in my hand.
“Ozzy?” he barks. “What’s happening?”
I don’t answer. I just drop to my knees and reach for the boy.
“No way,” Carter says, laughing nervously as he paces the living room, hands flailing like he’s trying to bat the situation away with air.
Jackson, Jensen, and Dorothy are all seated, staring at me—more accurately, staring at the now-sleeping toddler cradled in my arms like he’s made of glass and ticking.
His name is Wyatt. At least, that’s what the crumpled note duct-taped to his tiny suitcase says.
Wyatt Carter Rowe.
“I triple-wrap this shit!” he blurts out, sounding on the verge of tears.
“Language!” Dorothy snaps, smacking his arm without looking. “Now, who is his mother?” Her voice goes sharp. “And I’m using that term very loosely.”
Jackson studies the note in his hand, brows knitting before cursing under his breath. “Emmaleigh Anders.”
Carter groans and drops onto the edge of the coffee table. “Oh my god, that was one time. Four years ago. At Lacey Hale’s Halloween party. I was drunk!”
“Huh, four years ago?” I tilt my head, trying to look serious but failing. “You don’t say.”
Carter turns on me like a snapped rubber band. “Listen here, Hellraiser ?—”
He doesn’t finish. Jackson’s already between us, his body blocking me like a reflex. His jaw ticks, and his voice drops to something low and lethal. “Take a breath, Carter. And choose your next words very carefully.”
Oh, fuck. That voice. My thighs clench like they’ve got a mind of their own. I blink hard and try not to think about how that same voice had me writhing just a bit ago, through a goddamn speaker.
“I—yeah, okay,” Carter mumbles, suddenly a lot smaller. “I’m just... freaking out.”
“You think?” Jackson mutters before stepping back, but not without brushing against me slightly. I swear my skin lights up where his shoulder grazes mine.
“What am I supposed to do?” Carter whines while staring at the sleeping boy in my lap like he’s a bomb. “I don’t know what to do with kids! Does he still need breast milk? I’m not lactating!”
Dorothy stands and grips her son’s shoulders, calm and solid. “He’s over three, Carter. He eats real food. You’ll figure it out. You’re going to do the right thing, and you’re going to take care of your son.”
Carter stares at her like she’s just delivered a death sentence.
“I can’t. I… there is no way he’s mine. You’re gonna believe Emmaleigh over me? He… goddamn it! Fuck this, I’m out of here.” He growls with exasperation before turning and leaving the house.
The front door slams hard enough to shake the windows.
Dorothy sinks into the couch, her hand pressed to her forehead. “Jackson, can we get Derek back out here? With Theo down and Carter losing his damn mind, we need help getting the ranch ready for winter.”
Jackson coughs into his elbow, pulling out his phone. “He’ll come,” he mutters, already dialing.
I stare down at the tear-stained boy, and my heart breaks for him.
I can’t believe his mom would just abandon him on a stranger’s doorstep like this.
I’m not a fan of kids. I’ve never really seen myself as a mom.
It’s just not my scene. But still, I don’t think I could look my son in his wide, innocent eyes and say goodbye.
I glance up and find Jackson watching me.
He’s not speaking. Derek must be talking on the other end, but Jackson’s lips are parted slightly, his chest rising slow, steady. His eyes look like they’re drinking me in.
His gaze drops to the boy in my arms.
Then back to my face.
Something passes between us. Something scorching and complicated and still so raw from last night. I wonder if he’s thinking about the way I moaned his name. About what I said I wanted. What he let me want.
His throat bobs as he swallows, then finally speaks into the phone. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll explain when you get here.”
I look away first.
Because if I don’t, I’m going to do something stupid. Like kiss him again.
Or worse… ask him to make that phone call a reality.
Once Dorothy and Wyatt are tucked in for the night, I grab the medicine bottle and quietly make my way upstairs. My hand hovers over the knob before I knock softly against Jackson’s door and ease it open.
He’s half-sitting in bed, shirtless, the covers low on his hips. His chest is flushed from fever, his eyes heavy and rimmed with shadows. Even sick, he looks unfairly hot.
“Oh, hey, Tink.” His voice is thick and scratchy as he coughs into his arm.
I walk up to the bed, shaking the bottle at him like a threat. “You need to take this.”
He peers at it like I just offered him a live rat. “It’s liquid. I ain’t drinking that shit.”
“Come on,” I groan. “That’s all I have.”
“Be gone, devil woman, and take that vile shit with you.”
I look at the purple bottle.“It’s grape-flavored.”
There’s a muffled “ha” before he pops his head out.“I’m not drinking that. Liquid medicine tastes like fucking ass.”
“Fucking ass, huh? Well, I guess you would know. I’ve never partaken in such delicacies.” I hear him snort, but I walk over with the cup of liquid anyway. “Drink it.”
He groans and rolls over.“I am forty years old. I can handle a cold without that nasty shit.”
I huff before walking to the other side to face him again—stubborn ass.“You’re forty years old, but acting like you’re seven. Now take the damn medicine before I force you,” I warn, causing him to raise a brow.
“Sounds kinky, I’m game.”
I try to ignore the heat rising to my cheeks at his comment.
God help me, my thighs clench.
“Just take the medicine,” I snap, handing him the little cup.
He downs it like a man being executed. “Fucking hell, that’s revolting.”
“Such a baby,” I murmur, passing him his water.
He gulps it and shudders dramatically. “You wanna taste it?”
I lean down so that I’m eye level with him and move towards his lips, but stop myself. What am I doing? I can’t just kiss–
“Listen,” he whispers, and I feel his breath on my lips.
“If you’re stopping because you need consent, baby, I’m telling you right now, your pretty ass has the consent to do anything, always.
” I giggle lightly. How does he always make me feel so damn calm?
I thought for sure I would never be able to look at him again after the phone call, but here we are.
“Put your hands in my hair,” I whisper and gasp as I feel his fingers on my scalp. My heart rate quickens, and I feel my flight response kicking in.
“Stay with me, Tink,” he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse. “I’ve got you.”
I nod. “Pull me to your mouth.” And he does.
He kisses me like I’m oxygen and he’s been drowning. Tongue teasing, lips hot and plush against mine. When he bites down softly on my bottom lip and sucks it into his mouth, I make a sound—half moan, half sob—and my body jerks against his.
“Shit,” I pull away, panting.
His hands go up. “Did I?—?”
“No. No. Just… overwhelmed.” I shift back, flushed and trembling.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “Talk to me, baby. Can I touch you?”
I nod, biting my lip. He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me to his bare chest. The heat of him sinks straight into my bones.
“Jackson…” I press back against him, my body humming.
“Mhm.” He nuzzles my neck. “Tell me what you need, Tink.” His voice is low and husky in my ear, just like it was on the phone, and I can’t help the shuddered breath that escapes me.
“I-I don’t know,” I whisper honestly. “This is… fuck, this is just really new.”
“How so?” he whispers against my ear, and I feel his thumb brush over my belly button.
“J-Jackson, no one has touched me in over five years,” I admit, and his body stills. Squeezing my eyes shut, I wait for it; for him to realize that my attackers were the last and that he won’t want to touch me.
“You mean anywhere? At all?”
I turn around and stare up at him as a tear breaks free and rolls down my cheek.
“Yeah,” I manage over a sob. “In fact, what we just did on the phone, it’s the closest anyone’s been with me since…
” I shake my head and look back at him. “I know that was just a spontaneous thing, and you probably have no interest in–”
“Stop,” he states firmly and backs up a step, his eyes assessing me. “Baby, you have no idea the level of interest I have.”
My breath catches in my throat as my eyes widen. I blink at his words and my lips part. “Really?” I breathe out and watch him nod.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he insists. “Not scared. Not turned off. Not second-guessing a goddamn thing. I don’t know how or when it happened, but yeah, I like you, and I’m not the kind of man that tries to play off his feelings and shit.
I’m honest and upfront. So let me make it very clear: I am interested in you. ”
I take a shaky breath. “It’s going to be hard. I’m not easy to like.”
“You haven’t been easy for one second, and I still want you,” he says, eyes burning. “Figure that shit out.”
I laugh softly, breathless. “I want to hug you,” I confess, and watch his arms go out instantly and without an ounce of hesitation, inviting me in.
“Then get over here, baby.”
I press myself to him, face against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
After a moment, I whisper, “You’re warm.”
He chuckles, lips at my temple. “That’s the fever.”
I lean back just enough to meet his gaze. “I really should go. Before your germs infect me.”
“Alright, but first…” A smirk pulls at his face. “How nasty was that medicine?”
I giggle as I shake my head.
“Tasted like god damn ass.”